


In the Right Measure

by waitfortheclick



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: BDSM, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Happy Sex, Humiliation, Injury, M/M, No Aftercare, Objectification, Painful Sex, Painplay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, no safe words used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitfortheclick/pseuds/waitfortheclick
Summary: (…) without tenderness, we are in hell.- X (Twenty-One Love Poems), Adrienne RichI reach out in love, my hands are guns,my good intentions are completely lethal.- It is Dangerous to Read Newspapers, Margaret AtwoodHe’s always felt like he needed to be loved a little harder. He likes to have evidence of desire.If it may please the Court I’d like to present the following items, exhibits a, b, and c: the mud tracked by his boots across the floor, my shirt, and my heart.





	In the Right Measure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quire/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Why Did You Think a Big Balloon Would Stop People?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075546) by [easyforpauline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/easyforpauline/pseuds/easyforpauline). 



Jensen's got this fantasy: He's on his hands and knees on the floor, and Cougar has his feet propped up on his back. Jensen's spine is very straight; he is perfectly still. Cougar’s just come back from… whatever, something mission-related. Surveilling or reconnaissancing or something.

He'd been out for a long time, while Jensen sat in front of his computer, hunched over the keyboard, not not worrying about him.

“You worry about me?”

“No. I don’t know. Shut up.”

Whatever, doesn't matter.

Cougar's back, and he's exhausted. He calls Jensen over, tells him that he needs to make himself useful. He tells Jensen that he needs to work on his posture. Only, he obviously doesn't actually say all that. He just makes himself comfortable on the couch and clears his throat, pointedly. So Jensen comes over - no, Jensen _crawls_ over - and he kneels, waiting for Cougar to lift his legs so he can get in position.

Cougar watches TV or cleans his gun or both, it doesn't really matter. What matters is that he doesn't pay any attention to Jensen. Because Jensen is an ottoman, and you don't have to acknowledge furniture.

Oh, and it's been raining, and Cougar's boots are really dirty and gross. He didn't take them off at the door, and later he's going to give Jensen a sponge or a rag or something and he'll push his face into the floor and he's going to make him clean up the mud he tracked across the floor to the couch.

For the moment, though, his boots are getting filth all over the back of Jensen's shirt.

 

"Then?" Cougar pauses over his game of solitaire, patient, and stares at the back of Jensen's head. He's hunched over a keyboard now, too. Cougar watches his nape turn red, watches him straighten his spine self-consciously.

"Uh. Then you, uh..." he rubs at the back of his neck. "Then you make me lick your boots clean." An embarrassed little giggle rushes through him.

"Repulsivo." Cougar chuckles, and Jensen shivers.

"Thanks." He turns, bites his lip, smiles at him.

* * *

Jensen knows it's cliche and gross but sometimes he likes to think of his team as these big, stereotypical jocks, like in those movies about high school. And here he is this geek they like to humiliate in front of girls and force to do their homework and then force to his knees and oh god.

Anyway, he knows that high school isn’t actually how it is in movies. He knows that no one on his team is actually that much of a bully. They give off this image like they're all thuggish and mean but that's largely what it is: an image. It’s just. The thought of it. It’s nice.

There's that scene in the movie _Heathers_ where the jocks push the geeky kid to the ground and make him say shit about liking to suck dick or whatever. He likes that scene, in an uncomfortable, squirmy way.

Really, though, the team isn't nearly clean cut enough to be the '80s movie jocks. More like the bad boys. Like Judd Nelson in _The Breakfast Club_.

He'd kind of always wanted John Bender to be mean to him.

And then there’s this, the other thing of it. The thing he can’t tell Cougar. Because it’s not just the "useful" but the "useful to _him_ ". Cougar coming over and grabbing the back of his neck and forcing him away from his screens and data. Pulling him out of his obsessive checking and fussing and putting his feet on his back or his cock down his throat as if to say "I’m right here, I’m safe."

Cougar resting his legs on his back, Cougar letting him take the weight. Because that's what Jensen's there for: to take his weight, to take what he's given. Because Cougar trusts him to take it.

He’s always felt like he needed to be loved a little harder. He likes to have evidence of desire.

If it may please the Court I’d like to present the following items, exhibits a, b, and c: the mud tracked by his boots across the floor, my shirt, and my heart.

* * *

Jensen's on his back with Cougar between his legs and the sheets rucked up and sweaty beneath him. Cougar's fingers dig deep into Jensen's flesh, keep him spread open with an iron, crushing grip. Jensen tests the pressure just enough to feel the hold tighten, and groans.

Cougar's nails drag down his thighs; he sucks him hard and fast. Jensen's knuckles are turning white as he clutches at the pillow under his head. He feels like he must be breathing entirely too loud, trying to brace himself against the sensation of too much.

"Oh, fuck, oh, Jesus on a broomstick!" Before Jensen can fully absorb the embarrassment of that little outburst, Cougar's releasing him and kneeling up. Jensen has a second to think wait, he didn't swallow, did he? before Cougar's patting at his cheek, the hinge of his jaw.

He thinks, oh, opens up, and lets Cougar spill his own cum into his mouth. He shudders at the slime of it and the taste the harsh jolt of arousal it sends all the way through him, right down to his toes. It's stupid and pointless and filthy and wonderful.

Cougar nudges Jensen's jaw shut and covers his mouth with his whole hand while Jensen swallows, wide eyed behind his glasses. It strikes him that Cougar probably only sucked him to do this, just to get his cum and then make him take it back inside. Just a means to an end.

The thought is humiliating, electrifying, and the sparks light a shivery, desperate fire within him. He lets loose as soon as Cougar moves his hand away. He's begging as he feels Cougar start to jerk himself off, his fist bumping against his thigh.

"Wait, wait a sec," he strokes lightly at Cougar's face, tucks wisps of hair behind his ears. Affectionate, silly gestures. "Let me have it, baby, c'mon. Please, I wanna suck you, wanna swallow." He grins, a little loopy, pets gently at Cougar's facial hair. Cougar grins back, and, oh, Jensen thinks, _oh_ , cat, meet canary.

And oh, this is good, begging for something Cougar was most likely going to give him anyway.

"No hands," Cougar says. He shoves Jensen's shoulders down on the bed and crawls up until his thighs rest warm and firm on either side of his face.

Jensen nods frantically and fists his hands in the sheets. Cougar's close - Jensen can tell from the tremors running through his muscles - and it only takes a few thrusts for him to shoot, hot and bitter, between his lips.

Jensen shudders and tightens his grip on the sheets, tries to tamp down the irrational fear that Cougar will pull away before he finishes. He tries not to grab at his hips and hold him close to his face.

"Go on." He doesn't fully realize he's waiting for permission until Cougar gives it, and he finally lets himself relax, and he swallows.

Cougar climbs back down his body and settles again between his thighs. He holds himself up a bit on his elbows, and Jensen smiles up at him. He feels delirious, a little like swooning, as he holds onto Cougar's triceps.

Cougar smiles, indulgent, murmurs, "Greedy thing." Jensen smiles wider and nods.

* * *

Jensen's doing push ups in his room, trying to dull the sharp edge of his mind with something repetitive. Over the din in his head he hears the door click shut, the lock slide home, then nothing. He grins and amends his form, feels like he has to adjust for the added weight of Cougar's gaze.

He doesn't even know Cougar's moved until he feels the boot on his back, heavy between his shoulder blades. Cougar rocks forward a bit, teasing, then presses down hard. Jensen's forced to his belly, his elbows pointing to the ceiling.

He tries very, very hard not to hump the floor.

"Hey, Cougs," he grins, breathless, cheek pressed into the cheap carpet. "What's up?"

He feels the weight of the the boot lift, then kick at his shoulder a little, pushing insistently. Jensen obliges, rolls over. He smiles up at him, too open. He knows he's giving too much away, again, always.

"It's a good thing you're not a bad guy; I already want to tell you things I don't even know." He winces inwardly. Cougar looms over him and raises an eyebrow.

He lifts his boot again, this time to prod at Jensen's erection through his pants. Jensen clenches his fists and forces himself to keep breathing, resists the instinct to curl up on his side to protect himself. Cougar hums pleasantly as he exhales.

"Get it out."

"Jesus Christ, God, yes, anything." Jensen scrambles to unzip his jeans and pull out his cock. He presses his palms to the floor, he rubs the pads of his fingers unthinkingly against the short, rough pile of the carpet.

"Obviamente."

Jensen laughs, because, yeah, obviously. He's flat on his back with his dick out because Cougar wanted it. Of course, anything.

Cougar kneels beside him, shoves up the hem of his tee shirt. He considers Jensen. That's how he feels: considered. He hopes Cougar finds him wanting, because oh, yes, he is wanting.

Cougar's face betrays nothing.

Jensen barely pushes the words down; he wants to be, for Cougar, silent and still. Evidence under a microscope, to be scrutinized and labelled and filed away. Brought back out again at a later date for further study. Still, he twitches, and Cougar hums again.

"Stroke it," Cougar says. "One hand." Jensen wraps a hand around himself, cautious, focuses on keeping his ass on the floor as he starts to jerk himself off. "Eyes stay open."

"Uh huh, of course, wouldn't dream of anything else." He tightens his grip and works his cock with anxious little pulls. He watches Cougar rub a couple fingers against the tip of his cock, collecting precum. Cougar watches his own fingers with the detached fascination of a wildlife photographer. He rubs the fluid between his fingers and thumb, then wipes it all off on Jensen's stomach.

"Uh. OK." Jensen breathes hard through his nose and tries to get a grip.

"Stop." Jensen stops. "Hands off." Jensen jerks his hand away before he can think about it, presses it against the floor. Cougar's face is still blank when he reaches out and grabs dispassionately at Jensen's nipple.

Oh, he likes this. Likes when Cougar touches him like this, like he's not touching Jensen there because it goes directly to his dick. He's doing it just because it happens to hurt a lot. Like he's taking advantage of the sensitivity. He catches the nipple between his knuckle and thumb, maximum force, squeezes hard and long and then pets over it.

Jensen's eyes shut tight for half a second before he remembers and forces them open wide. His hands squeeze into fists, then release, palms up.

Cougar's watching his own hands with that same sort of vague interest. He gropes hard at the flesh around his nipples, down his sides, kneading the bones of his knuckles into skin, muscle.

Jensen's good, he's so good, look at him, "-- Being so, so good. I'm good, I'm good, I'm so good; all I ever wanna be is right here being good for you, oh fuck!"

Cougar gets a hand around his dick, too tight, relentless. He pulls at the hair on Jensen's belly with his other hand, lighting up his skin with tiny, bright points of pain. Jensen keeps up his chant until he comes, abs tightening; he forces himself to remain laid out flat. He pushes down the urge to curl in on himself.

He keeps his body open and bared to Cougar like an offering, a sacrifice, as his cum spills hot over his own stomach. Cougar keeps tugging well after he's making sad little hurt noises, then wipes off his hand on Jensen's skin.

"Uuuuhhh, oh my god."

Cougar smirks, gets up, disappears. Reappears upside down, standing over Jensen's head while he drops a couple Kleenex; the tissues flutter gently down before covering his face, blocking the view.

"Thanks, Coug," Jensen croaks. "Appreciate it."

* * *

When Jensen was a kid, he'd had a Power Rangers trading card. At least, he thinks it was Power Rangers. He can't remember if he had the whole deck, or even where he got it. He just remembers the one card.

On it, one of the girl Power Rangers - if that’s even what the theme had been - was pictured secured to one of those circus wheel things, those spinning deals for the knife-throwing act.

She'd been captured by one of the villains and tied up. It was something like Wheel of Fortune but with torture instead of cash prizes. He has no idea if this thing actually existed; he’d lost the card and has never been able to track it down online.

Maybe it wasn't a card, or maybe it was but it wasn't Power Rangers. It seems too specific a memory to be fabricated, though.

Anyway, that had been a big light bulb moment in his childhood. There was nothing inherently sexual or shameful about the picture, still he felt compelled to hide it. Only when he was absolutely sure no one would walk in on him, he'd take it out and stare, transfixed. Yeah, a big, flashing neon light sign with arrows and exclamation points. 

He thinks Roque wouldn't mind tying him to a wheel of death thingamajig and throwing some knives.

"Hey, Cougar." He looks up from his screen as Cougar wanders into the room, carrying a book; his index finger stuck between the pages to save his place. Jensen reads the upside down title: _Como todo acabó y volvió a empezar_. Cougar grunts at him and settles on the couch.

"Cougar, could you shoot a cigarette outta my mouth?"

"Si."

"Would you?"

"No." He can hear the smirk in Cougar's voice.

"Did you know that Annie Oakley's husband stopped eating after she died? Like, totally stopped. Then he died like two weeks after. From starvation. Apparently the 'official' COD was 'senility', whatever that meant back then. I think it's nicer to think he died of a broken heart."

" _Nicer?_ "

"Yeah, well, he just missed her so bad he couldn't go on living. I think it's romantic, but you're definitely giving me a Look so obviously this is not a normal thing to think. Although, who are you to judge, really? You definitely want to try to shoot a cigarette outta my mouth. Do you think Roque would use me for knife throwing practice?"

"Si, but he's not allowed."

* * *

They've got a full weeks' leave, a hotel room, and a bottle of Really Good Lube. Jensen had handed it to Cougar with one simple instruction: "Make it hurt."

"Shoulda brought a speculum," Jensen says, under his breath. He laughs, and it sounds a little hysterical.

Cougar looks at the body spread out beneath him and murmurs, "Should have sent a poet." He bites down hard on the meat of Jensen's ass, aiming for distraction.

"Aw, Cougs, you secret romantic," Jensen manages, between pained little whimpers. Damn it, apparently he hadn't been fast enough. He bites down again, harder, and Jensen pushes his face into the pillow and whines.

Cougar smiles, thinks to himself: "Like a kicked dog."

"Hey, maybe next time you could get your whole fist up there!" As if right now Cougar's got more than two fingers up in him, as if it isn't already a tight fit.

Cougar makes a noncommittal noise, but he thinks: "Yes. Anything. Just ask."

"Hurts," Jensen whimpers.

Cougar takes a second to adjust himself before saying, "Tell me."

Cougar watches the muscled expanse of Jensen's back rise and fall with deep breaths as he tries to center himself. His eyes are shut, delicate skin creased, fluttering with soft movement. The picture of a man trying to gather his thoughts to give them form. Cougar lets him, would give him decades and centuries of time if he wanted, if he asked.

He spreads his fingers, testing the taut muscle. Jensen never really liked this, not like Cougar does, can't take it like he can, but it wouldn't work if he could. It wouldn't hurt the way he wants it to hurt. The way he says it's something so small that feels so big; the way he says it makes him feel invaded and panicky in a "good way".

Because, somehow, miraculously, he trusts Cougar to fuck him up.

"Like, like too much," Jensen pants against the pillow, and Cougar waits, because he knows he can do better than that. "Am I bleeding?"

"I'd stop if you were bleeding." He stills his hand. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Uh-uh," Jensen shakes his head as much as he can. "No." The lube rests on the towel, by Jensen's hip, and Cougar pulls his fingers all the way out to pour on more, slicks up almost his whole hand. When the two return, his ring finger follows.

"Uh!" Jensen grunts and then whines. "OK, yeah, yeah, that's a lot. A Lot."

Cougar fights against the strain to press all three fingers inside, squeezes his own dick in his pants and hisses: _"Tell me."_

"Cougar, oh, oh, you sick fuck," he giggles. "That's three right? Yeah, that's three. Fuck, fuck it, I love the way you get off on this, on hurting me, I --" He cuts off when Cougar starts fucking him, heavy and hard. "Oh," he swallows, Cougar watches the slide of his throat. "That's deep."

Jensen's eyes squeeze shut as Cougar presses rough against his prostate, just because he can, just to make him feel the pleasure in spite of himself. He whines, and the crease between his eyebrows cuts itself deeper.

"That's a lot, that's too much, I --" he swallows again. "I can't take it, please."

"Tell me." Cougar means: I want every word you have to give me. He means: You tap out, I stop this.

"Oh!" Cougar lets up on the trigger, concentrates on spreading and fucking and giving him more than he thinks he can handle. "Love it when you get under my skin like this, Cougs. Feel like a, like a, puppet, oh, fuck. Rough, heavy, fucking, fire right up inside me. Come on, baby, fuckin', fuckin' own me. Oh, fuck, that's embarrassing. Uh! Pin and mount me, baby, fuck!"

Oh, this is good, Cougar's so happy he could burst, he's so hard he aches and he needs --

"Need to --" he grunts, pulls out his dick with one shaking hand. "Can I --" He shakes his head, trying to clear it, brings himself back to the situation. "Gonna come on your back."

"Please." Jensen's whole body shudders with the force of his plea. He pulls his fingers out (so fucking tight, like he has to fight to get them free) and knee-walks up to kneel over Jensen's lower back. Cougar presses one hand into the muscle of Jensen’s shoulder, pushes down hard, jerks himself fast, racing against his own orgasm. His cum splatters up Jensen's spine and Jensen gasps at the feel of it like he's shocked to his core.

Cougar has to kneel there for a bit, catching his breath, trying to keep his weight off Jensen's hips and spine. He hauls his ass off the bed and comes back with a warm, damp face towel to clean the cum off of Jensen's back, the lube from between his thighs.

Cougar gets his hands on Jensen’s hip, shoulder, guides him onto his back. His dick is soft, sweetly thick where it rests against his thigh. No slick or flaking white on his skin or the sheets. Cougar's concerned, until he drags his gaze over Jensen's torso to his face. He looks so utterly content that Cougar lets out his held breath, tension releasing its hold on his muscles.

"Thanks." Jensen has to clear his throat a few times before he says it, but his voice is warm and sleepy like milk and honey before bed, and his smile is sincere. Cougar feels giddy, happiness rising up inside him like soap bubbles. Like butterflies disturbed from slumber. His face aches from the insistence of his smile.

He presses soft kisses against the soft skin of Jensen's throat, lips buzzing with the vibration as Jensen hums and wraps his arms around him.

* * *

Jensen's had lovers who talk more than Cougar, of course he has. What, like it's hard? Side note: he likes that, _lovers_ , he likes the word. The way it's embarrassing and makes him feel buzzy and warm in a way that _fuck buddies_ just doesn't. Not that Cougar needs to know that; Jensen's word choice is between him and himself, thanks.

He's had lovers who talk, some more than others. Lovers who narrate and cajole and praise and scold. He's a fan, he likes that just fine. Cougar, though, he uses words so sparingly and Jensen is very into it. Like Cougar knows Jensen will be good regardless, that he'll know what to do without instruction.

It lights him up like the Vegas Strip and it makes him think things like "well-trained", and "trustworthy", and "useful". An ad on Craig's List: eager to please, only needs to be told once, a reliable way to come.

Cougar barely speaks and it's like he's just waiting him out, and Jensen always cracks so easily.

Always opens his mouth and lets out the words, gives it all up for him. All the filthy, embarrassing, squirmy things he thinks about and God, it feels good.

It feels great. There's something wonderful about the fact that Cougar never tries to gag him; the way Cougar knows his mouth will always work against him.

* * *

They're making out on the floor. Cougar's alternating between pressing Jensen's wrists down and hurting him; a cat tormenting a trapped mouse. He lets go with one hand to squeeze Jensen's face, pushing the soft inner flesh of his cheeks against his own sharp teeth. He laughs and bites at Jensen's lips.

He lets go of his face and presses himself cozy and hot against his body, covers him, pushes his tongue past his lips and into his mouth. Jensen keeps his hands down, palms up, and whimpers, lets Cougar fuck his tongue deep inside.

He really is so good.

Cougar hears something, the scuff of a shoe against the floor maybe, barely a whisper of a sound. He scrambles up, unable to catch his breath, mind racing. How could he have been so stupid, so careless? There's Roque, frozen, his mouth a perfect "O" of surprise.

Fuck, why did it have to be Roque? Roque hates secrets within the team; had made that abundantly clear after one of Clay's dates had planted a bomb under their car that nearly killed them all. Cougar can't get enough air, his skin feels too tight, and --

And there's Jensen, pulling him back to sit on the couch, chest to Cougar's back. He eases back, guides Cougar's spine straight, his shoulders back. His hands are as steady as his voice as he orders him to breath, directs him through the exercises that keep his head from spinning and his feet on the ground.

Roque is -- gone. Who knows where. He tries to ask Jensen but he just gets shushed for his trouble. It doesn't matter, not right now. Jensen's got him. The rest can wait.

* * *

"Will this affect the team?"

"Hey, Clay! Good to see you, too. I know, it _is_ a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

"Jensen."

Jensen sighs and hits the spacebar to pause his game. "No, Clay, it won't affect the team. Don't worry, you won't ever have to have another awkward conversation with me. Please stop trying to avoid eye contact, I give you permission to leave." Clay doesn't even comment on his rank.

* * *

Roque makes a crack about knowing Jensen had to be a masochist, something about Cougar keeping him in his place. His smile is warm, the teasing light, but Cougar still stops cleaning his gun to give him a look. He holds eye contact until Roque gets uncomfortable and leaves the room.

Jensen, whistling something Cougar recognizes from Carmen, bumps into him in the doorway. Roque mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like an apology. Jensen freezes and stares wide-eyed at Cougar. Cougar just smiles, shrugs, and drops his gaze back to his gun.

* * *

Pooch waits until they're all in one room together before clearing his throat, making eye contact with each of them, and saying: "So, there's this crazy thing that people sometimes do when they all live together. Sometimes, and I know this is a wild idea, they _don't_ make out in common areas. Or, when they're messing around in their own rooms, they lock the door. Please, hold your gasps of astonishment till the end. A last resort would be leaving a note, or putting a sock on the doorknob. Goddamnit, do _not_ walk away while I am talking to you."

* * *

Well, no, that isn’t all Pooch has to say. Cougar's still absolutely terrified, and he can’t quite believe that that’s just... it. That the team doesn’t care about the whole queer thing. Queer as in gay, as in strange.

“Look, man, I don’t know what to tell you. You two just aren’t that interesting, all right?” His tone is teasing and there’s a light in his eyes, but he must see the darkness, the heaviness in Cougars' because he sighs. “Listen. How long have you been looking after us, pulling our asses out of the fire? I doubt you just started this thing with Jensen, like, yesterday. I’m guessing there’s been some overlap. So it obviously hasn't affected your work. We trust you guys, OK?”

Cougar doesn’t really know what to say to that. He feels the words jam up in his throat like bad traffic. What, he thinks, has he done to deserve this? He shrugs and smiles and hopes Pooch gets it, because yeah, he’s grateful. Yeah, he is. Just don’t make him say it. Pooch, luckily, doesn’t.

* * *

Sometimes Cougar thinks there’s no way, no way he got this lucky. No way they ended up on the same team, both wanted each other, both wanted it like _this._ It just doesn’t make sense to him. Seems more likely that Jensen’s just going along with it to make him happy. Yeah.

As if Jensen hadn’t been the one to take Cougar’s hand, press it against his ass, and ask Cougar to hit him. If he wanted to, if he did that. Way back when they still had their guards way up, smart enough not to do anything in goddamn common areas. As if Jensen isn’t the one spilling all his secrets and fantasies with barely any prompting on Cougar’s part.

If it still isn’t named outright, this thing between them, its existence is now undeniable.

Now that they are obviously a "thing", along with the scrutiny, imagined though it largely is, it's almost enough to make them panic and end it. However, much in the way it takes a village to raise a child, it seems it takes a team to sustain a relationship.

Domestics that might have otherwise festered in darkness are significantly weakened in the light. A gruff “work it out” from Clay proves enough to put an end to petty squabbles. While this thing between them might have fizzled out if left unknown, it's strengthened and supported by the unit. Ironic, considering that the unit was the number one reason this thing never should have happened. But neither of them would give it, any of it, up.  

Still, they take the warning seriously, and attempt to relearn discretion.

* * *

Cougar moves into his line of sight, deliberate, and Jensen pushes his headphones off one ear.

"Busy?"

"Uh, yeah, why?"

"Important? Or just games?"

"Wow, Cougar, wow, that hurts me, it really does. Do I condescend to you about your hobbies? No, I just let you clean your guns over and over like a fucking mad man. Because I care, Cougar. I'll have you know games are very important to me." Cougar shakes with laughter, a hand pressed over his mouth.

He pulls himself together: "More important than getting fucked?"

"Oh, jeez, man, way to bury the lede. Ugh, this is actually important and work, though."

"OK. Find me when you're done."

Jensen finds him only about five minutes later, and Cougar raises an eyebrow at him.

"What?” Jensen says, “I didn't have to finish it all at once. Anyway, I work fast, maybe I'm done. You don't know."

Cougar does know, though. Of course he finished. He would have assumed it if Jensen hadn't said anything.

"Where do you want me?" Jensen asks.

Cougar leads the way to their room, stands against the wall, points at the ground in front of him. Jensen drops immediately; Cougar appreciates that. He appreciates that Jensen doesn't expect him to say much. Jensen doesn't get hurt or mad when he can't get the words out.

He watches Jensen watch his hands as he unbuttons, unzips his fly. He looks at Jensen there, kneeling at his feet, relaxed, comfortable, sitting back on his heels. He's got his hands crossed low and loose against his lower back.

Cougar takes out his dick, his mouth slightly open, his heart beating hard. He has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment when Jensen straightens his spine, sways forward. He tells himself to get a grip.

"One hand,” he pats at the exposed skin of his own hip, “Here,” and Jensen reaches up immediately.

Just in case. If he needs to tap out.

Cougar palms the back of his head and pulls him in; he watches Jensen's hand curl and clench into a fist at the small of his back.

The way Jensen opens up without needing to be told, the way he inhales, deep, it all takes him fast from half hard to aching. Cougar watches as his hand relaxes, fist unclenching, and feels affection settle sweetly behind his breast bone.

Of course, a mouth is a mouth is a mouth, but Cougar can't help thinking Jensen's is the sweetest he's ever slipped into. He digs his fingers into the back of Jensen's skull and pushes his hips forward until he feels resistance.

Cougar always figured deep throating was one of those porn party tricks that didn't actually have any practical value. Most of the time, he doesn't bother. This position is particularly awkward. They both know this would be easier with Jensen on his back, head hanging off the bed, mouth and throat in alignment.

He feels Jensen's fingers spasm on his hip when he tries to shove himself further inside. Cougar frowns, playing at puzzled and disappointed.

This, this is the "why" in "why bother": Jensen struggling to perform in what they both know is a near impossible situation. Jensen glances up at him and shifts, tilts his head back. Cougar thrusts shallowly, bending his knees.

"Calmate," he whispers, reaching down to stroke gently at Jensen's throat. He keeps a steady pressure on the back of his head, feels Jensen shiver and open up for him. He realigns himself, guiding his cock carefully down Jensen's throat. Jensen's metal frames bump up cool against Cougar’s skin. He takes a shaky breath.

He knows Jensen can take it, likes it, but he wants to be in control of himself here. He pulls on Jensen's hair, pulls him back until the tip of his cock rests against his lush lower lip. Jensen's lips tighten around him, sucking hard. Cougar can feel the grin, exhilarated and wild, tugging at the corner of his lips. He breathes out like he's about to take a shot, his focus intense, and pushes back into Jensen's throat.

This is fun, but not what he really needs. He pulls out again and grips the base of his cock, guides Jensen back into a better position for his straining neck. He sways his hips forward, and Jensen bobs his head, sucking, licking, lapping at his cock. His own hand slides down his cock to rub his balls.

Jensen makes plaintive little grunting sounds, digs his nails into Cougar's skin, probably doesn't even realize he's doing it.

"Jensen," he warns, but Jensen isn't slowing down. He isn't resisting the hand in his hair. Cougar comes and he swallows, lips wrapped tight around his cock until Cougar pulls him off.

Cougar leans back against the wall, resisting the urge to collapse to the floor. Jensen's being so patient, pressing his forehead to Cougar's hip, breathing hard. Cougar pulls himself together and straightens up.

"Go on." He shifts his weight to one leg, nudges the other between Jensen's knees. Jensen makes a pained little noise and brings his other hand around to hold onto Cougar's pants. His breath is hot against Cougar's skin, mouth open and brow furrowed as he grinds against his shin. He rubs his face against Cougar's hip and stomach, chin slick with his own saliva, and his whispers steadily rise in volume --

"So good to me, Cougs, so good, oh my God, you're so good to me, oh fuck!" Cougar feels his hips jerk hard against his leg once, twice, then slow into gentle rolls as he whimpers, sensitive.

Cougar pushes at Jensen's shoulders so he can slide down the wall. He grabs at Jensen and he curls up against Cougar's side, curls his fingers into his shirt.

"What were you thinking?"

"Uh, when? A lot. I think a lot of things, all the time. Gonna have to be more specific, Cougar." He grins, takes off his glasses smudged from Cougar’s skin and cleans them with the hem of his tee shirt.

"You know."

"Oh, with the... the cock sucking and the humping, right. I was sort of kind of thinking about if you fucked my throat until I passed out and then, uh, kept using me." He giggles a little.

Cougar turns his face into the top of Jensen's head, presses a smile against his hair. "Eres loco."

* * *

There's a forearm hard against his throat from behind and a fist tight in his hair. Sudden. Then one word in his ear: "Knees." Jensen swallows against the pressure, drops like a sack of flour.

"Jesus, Cougar, be glad I trust --" Cougar shoves Jensen’s face into the floor and he has to get his arms up fast to brace himself. Cougar's fingers curl under the waistband of his sweats and tug down, rough. Jensen rubs his cheek against the floor, his eyes shut, his mouth open.

He grunts and jerks forward when Cougar's palm first lands, hard and heavy, against his backside. There's no easing into it; Cougar starts out intense and doesn't let up. Jensen whimpers and curls his fingers fitfully against the carpet, trying hard to keep the position.

The hits are loud and the pain is both sharp and bruising. Superficial and sonorous. He's not sure when his whimpers turned into keening sobs.  

Each blow is a mallet against the gong of his mind, reverberating through him and scattering his thoughts.

Jensen's panting and blinking fast when he feels both of Cougar's rough hands on him, spreading him open. He hears him spit but doesn't really get it until it lands, slimy and warm. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks: _bullseye_.

Cougar's hand slides back into his hair, and the other works under elastic to grab the base of his dick. Jensen lets out a startled little gasp. He feels Cougar drape himself over his back.

"Take care of this." His grip tightens. "Do not come."

Jensen makes a high pitched sound, a wordless and unsuppressable plea. "OK." He nods as best he can and Cougar's hands and weight seem to vanish at once. Jensen presses his forehead against the floor. He curls his hands into tight fists and catches his breath.

Eventually, he reaches down with a shaking hand to carefully pull his waistband away from his body; he tugs it down around the tops of his thighs. His dick smacks against his belly, and he rolls his head against the floor to stare down at it.

It strikes him as ridiculous, thwarted. The thought hits him hot in the gut and he clenches his abdominals reflexively, fitfully. He swallows, watches his dick bob and twitch in the air, absurd and useless.

He rallies, gets himself to the bathroom. He runs the tap as cold as it'll go and soaks a washcloth, clenches his jaw, and wraps it around his dick. He presses his face into his forearm into the cool plaster of the wall. He feels his arousal fade and retreat into something that pools warm and patient at his core.

He splashes water on his face; he walks to his room to find Cougar curled up in his bed.

"Jiminy Cricket, Cougs, you really are just a big ol' cat, huh? Run into a room, attack me, and then run right back out again."

Cougar ducks fast behind his book - _Gallo de pelea_ \- but Jensen still catches his silly grin.

* * *

Cougar watches the helicopter fall from the sky and feels sick to his stomach; he feels the slam of it, heavy, to the ground. Slow motion. It must be loud, thunderous, but he can't hear anything - there’s only stunned silence in his ears. Then time catches up to him fast and he can hear... he can _hear_ them.

He throws himself forward before he can think about it. He can hear them screaming and he can see them and somehow, Dios, somehow they're alive. Not only alive, but whole, barely bruised, breathing in oxygen to call out for him. The fire burns, but they are alive. He grabs with both hands the arms of the closest child, the boy's eyes light up with gratitude and hope, but then --

Under his hands, the boy's skin is... it's _slipping_ off. Cougar feels horror rise up within him, a tsunami. The boy is screaming and screaming. Cougar lets go, he gets hold of his shoulders instead. Blood wells up beneath his fingers like the skin is some kind of sponge; blood surges hot like the fire and almost black to the surface under the pressure.

"Por favor! Para!"

"Por qué? Por qué estás haciendo esto?"

 _You_ , why are you... Why are you doing this to us?

The children are sobbing, screaming, begging him _why_. He forces himself to let go of the boy, his mouth slack in terror and confusion. He turns around and the rest of his team is just standing there, frowning at him. Accusing.

His hands are hot and slick with blood. He holds them out, palms up, in desperate supplication. The children's cries are rising and rising and the fire is hot like Hell against his back and --

Cougar wakes.

His eyes snap open, his chest heaves with great big gasps for air. His sweat chills him to the bone; his skin is going to crawl right off his body. His heart thumps hard and insistent in his chest. He imagines one day it'll slip right out from beneath his rib cage, a Dear John letter left in its place: It's not me, it's you.

Terror fills him from top to toe, oil-black and viscous. There's no room for anything else. If someone were to pry open his skull and look inside, they'd see what a vile and loathsome place it is. He'd have no excuse, no defense for himself.

This is not a body fit to live in.

He knows what he'll see, but still he turns his head to look for Jensen. He knew it. His bed is empty, and it looks cold, the sheets are still rumpled from the night before. Cougar knows he hasn't been back tonight.

He'd looked, though, because this time he'd thought: maybe. Maybe this time, Cougar'd reach out.

Cougar reaches instead under the mattress, and pulls out a flask. Pulls out a gun. A rabbit out of a hat.

He presses his back against the cracked plaster wall and sips tequila from the flask the way a child drinks juice from a sippy cup. Stupid. Self-soothing. There's no one here to see.

He picks idly at the bandages covering his arms. He thinks he should be grateful he hasn't tried ripping them off in his sleep, like an injured dog.

He doesn't see Jensen until morning, when Cougar gets to the factory and finds him there, standing already at their station.

* * *

They don't touch in Bolivia.

They work and drink and even sleep - two mattresses on the floor, a foot apart - together. They don't touch. Cougar feels so full up with grief that he doesn't think want could even fit.

He's always been so good at compartmentalizing, but now he feels his walls have been demolished. On his more self-flagellating days he thinks that he couldn't ever bear again the sweetness of Jensen under him, beneath him, at his feet, in pain, happy.

Most of the time he must fight the urge to run and run, to cut all ties. Not run away, not hide; more the way a forest catches fire to make way for new growth. It’s an itch that lives fierce just under his skin.

He wants to cut off all his hair, like he’d heard Frida Kahlo did after she left Diego. The way he's always felt after a bad breakup or a significant death. He has to stop himself, force himself rational. He'd regret it. They'd made him cut it during Basic, and he still regrets it.

He remembers what it was like when he was a kid and his dad got transferred to a different city, and he had to go to a new school full of kids who didn't know him. In the first week Jeremy Walters cut off a chunk of his hair and Cougar punched him and made blood come out of his nose.

The look of pure stupefaction on Jeremy’s face right before he started crying was well worth the suspension.

(Cougar's mother had barely held it together during the meeting with the principal. When they got to the car, she'd rested her forehead on the steering wheel and laughed for a very long time. She'd been proud of him. She'd always taught him to defend what made him him. She didn't mention his silent tears while she cut the rest of his hair short to even it out.)

Cougar had insisted on sharing a room, even if they didn’t touch. He has to keep an eye on Jensen. Even if sometimes Jensen doesn’t sleep there, and he doesn’t have eyes on him at all. Cougar doesn’t blame him, it’s not as if he’s made the effort to bridge the gap.

He's just so greedy, selfish. The dog in the manger. Later, four months later, he'll be petty enough to steal a kiss just so he doesn't have to watch someone else touch Jensen.

The nightmares are bad for them both. The times they wake up together cold with terror sweat, chests heaving, they don’t make eye contact. Cougar hates it, hates how stupid and awkward he feels.

He’s overthinking it, he knows; the human animal doesn’t need anything more complicated than a warm touch. Skin on skin. A kind word.

He can’t do it.

He’s afraid, that’s the truth of it. Scared that whatever he offers won’t be enough. He won’t be enough, not anymore. Or, if it is enough, what then? What if it isn’t sustainable? Jensen will expect more, not unreasonably, and Cougar will deliver, until he can’t. Until he runs out of ideas. At that point he’ll be too close, he'll have too much to lose.

So after every nightmare Cougar curls in on himself, breathing hard, tries to remind himself where he is, that he’s relatively safe. He listens to Jake retching in the bathroom. He thinks that he could, it’d be so easy, he could just get up and rub his back. Get a cool, wet cloth for his face. It might mean so much to Jensen. 

It might even help himself. But then there's that: he can’t afford that. If he can’t afford to help Jensen, he really can’t afford to help himself. He’s afraid that if he finds a temporary reprieve, he’ll lose his edge. He’ll just... forget. Forgive himself.

He can’t do that, not to his team. Not to those kids.

* * *

It's beautiful here.

Hot, but Cougar likes it.

During the day, the sky is blue and kind, dappled with fluffy clouds. The warmth of the sun feels like forgiveness. The air presses close, mostly, except when it rains. When it rains the air seems to go loose with relief, drifts away from their bodies. The nights are illuminated by the lights along the streets and from joyfully noisy cantinas and by the infectious happiness of the locals.

Cougar feels nothing but guilt, horror. He thinks about how the entire country is ignorant of their presence. He thinks that if it knew, if any of them knew, the air would press close enough to smother.

It's beautiful here, but they are trapped. Sometimes Jensen will turn to him and laugh and start to say "Katie would love -" before cutting himself off and looking away.

Cougar has nightmares about the friendly locals turning against them with murderous rage. The earth itself coming for them, swallowing them whole. The team attacked by the jungle they had trekked through, thick vines pulling them deep and silent and forever into unending green.

He thinks that they bring with them nothing but death, and deceit.

* * *

Cougar doesn't take anyone home, doesn't go home with anyone. No, this isn’t anything sex could pacify. If it did, well, he didn’t want to think what kind of animal that might make him.

He doesn't think he could get it up, anyway. Cougar knows he's just too chicken shit to try. It's like as long as he doesn't disprove it, he could still, possibly, maybe, get his dick hard. What was that thing Jensen told him about? The cat in the box with radioactive materials or poison or whatever. Pavlov? No, that was dogs and drool.

It was the one with the cat that was both alive and dead until you open the box... Schrödinger! In the shower, he smiles and thinks, yeah, that's what Jensen would call it: Schrödinger's dick.

Although, and talk about Pavlovian, he thinks about Jensen and his dick and he gets hard. Go figure.

Cougar thinks, what the hell? He takes himself in hand and jerks forward into his slippery grip. He conjures up a memory: Jensen pressed up against him in a bed, breath hot against his face. Cock deliciously hard in his pants, pressed up against Cougar's bare hip. Pausing to tuck his face down away from Cougar's ear to gasp, a hitch in his breath, sucking sweet and soft on the skin of his neck and shoulder.

Talking the whole time, whispering against his skin. Some fantasy Jensen had about Cougar letting the whole team use him, sucking them off while they watch TV and ignore him. Cougar remembers getting off on the thought, on the way Jensen's face had burned and he'd squeezed his eyes shut in mortification but he never stopped talking.

If Jensen had needed, if he wanted, Cougar would have urged him on, but he never had to. Cougar'd just pulled him closer and jerked himself faster. Now, he presses his forehead against the wet wall of the shower, mouth open, and --

"Para!"

His eyes fly open, and he lets go of his cock like it's scalded him. All he can process for a moment is the sound of children screaming, crying out in Spanish. It takes him a moment to hear the laughter, the playful banter.

He presses his face against the wall again. The window. He left the fucking window open.

Before he knows he's moving, he's on the floor. He puts his shaking hands on his thighs and feels his heart beat violently in his chest. He's so dizzy. Everything in his body is telling him that he's wasting time, that he needs to be doing something. Anything. He tries to ignore it, he tries to breathe.

His cells are vibrating with the urge to act, to fix, to make things right. There's nothing to do, nothing to repair or help. All he has here is himself, and time.

Of course, the cat is always dead.

* * *

OK, they do touch in Bolivia.

Jensen comes back to the room one morning to find Cougar sitting on his mattress with the first aid kit open beside him. He's just started to peel back the bandage covering his left arm. Jensen takes a fortifying breath and sits next to him, ignores Cougar's curious yet guarded look.

This isn't something Cougar should do alone. This, this is something Jensen can do.

Cougar keeps his gaze on his burns and his eyes open, so Jensen takes his chin between his fingers and thumb and gently turns his face toward the window. He almost panics for a second, feeling ridiculous, but Cougar doesn't turn back. Jensen releases his held breath, relieved; he thinks maybe it wasn't such a stupid idea.

Jensen remembers when a girl at the factory, young, a teenager, had asked about the bandages. He'd watched Cougar's face darken and turn away before launching into this story about a bonfire on a Chilean beach, one too many pulls from a bottle of tequila:

"So this drunk idiot falls right into the fire! Lucky for him he got his arms out to catch himself before he could fuck up that handsome face." He'd winked at her; it had been easy enough to change the topic after that.

Now, he smoothes ointment across raw skin, gentle. It's unnerving the way Cougar doesn't react.

Part of him wants to apologize. For not having been here sooner. For not being there for him at all. He can't, though. Some stupid, stubborn part of him doesn't want to. Because, hey, Cougar could say something, too, could ask him to stay. To be there.

Though, thank God he never does because Jensen doesn't know if he could. It's so hard to be around any of them, these days. So hard to be near Cougar and want to touch or just say something that means anything but chickening out and hating himself for it.

It's easier to avoid the whole thing. It's easier with the local girls who like his stupid gringo accent and his light eyes. Easier with his clever fingers and tongue making it so he never has to listen to anyone tell him he should really, you know, _talk_ about it.

Still, right now, his fingers are gentle and confident as he wraps clean bandages back around Cougar's forearms. His smile feels brittle and too real and not enough, never enough, when he says, "Hey, remember the first time Roque and Clay took Pooch to a cock fight and he threw up?"

* * *

Pooch finds Jensen outside a cantina; he's sitting on the ground, leaning against a stuccoed wall. Skinny, stray dogs mill about him, and they stay just out of reach as he tries to lure them closer. Whatever interest they might have vanishes once they establish his lack of food. He laughs and lurches forward, an arm out, the fabric of his tee shirt catching on the rough surface of the wall behind him.

"Hey! It's the Pooch Man! Talk to your furry friends for me, Pooch Man!"

"You get kicked out, man?" Pooch squats in front of him and peels his fingers off the neck of his beer bottle. Jensen imagines his finger pads sticking like suction cups before detaching: _thock thock thock._ He giggles.

"No way. I kicked myself out, I was getting too muddy."

"Muddy?"

"Muddy, muddly, maudlin." His empty fingers twitch against the dirt. "Tell Cougar I'm fine, no need to send the rescue squad."

"Cougar didn't send me." Oh. He isn't sure if that's better or worse.

"Hey man, why are you crying?” Pooch's face looks wet, blurry.

“I’m not.” Pooch doesn’t sound defensive, maybe resigned. His eyes are definitely all blurry, though.

"Oh. Huh. That's weird." He rubs a hand across his own face, it comes back wet. Oh. "Oh."

"Yeah, OK," Pooch stands up and reaches down to haul Jensen to his feet. "Time to go home."

 _Home_ , thinks Jensen, _right_.

* * *

_Christ_ , Cougar looks good.

It’s hot and muggy and they’ve all gone too disgustingly long without washing. Cougar’s shirt is salt-wet and clinging to his back. His arms shine. Jensen wants to do something horrifyingly embarrassing like strip them both and wrestle and bury his face in the rank hair under Cougar’s arms.

That’s the thing -- not even that he’s horny but that he can’t share that thought. Can't earn himself an amused, disgusted look from Cougar. Because it still isn’t clear where things stand and he’s too chicken to try and see. It’s the uncertainty that’s really getting under his skin.

He’s a Mexican jumping bean. Despite all his rage he’s still just a rat in a cage. He feels all the time like a cat on a hot tin roof.

So his attention comes out all wobbly and sideways and poor Aisha gets the brunt of it. She’s collateral. A proxy. If this were a war, both he and Cougar are unwilling to make the first move. They hold their cards tight to their chests. Too risky to make a bet.   

Enough with the comparisons, the metaphors, the similes. This isn’t a war or a game. If Jensen were a more courageous man he’d say, “I will not break you, and you will not break me.” If he were that man, he’d sound so convincing there’d be no reason for doubt.

But he isn’t that man. Not yet.

_You got any hobbies?_

* * *

Cougar's fingers are sticky with Jensen's blood. He feels the guilt like nausea when Jensen says he's still in, but he pushes it down. Cougar can't prove Jensen said it just because he did; Jensen is an adult, after all. But it sure as hell feels like it, like he's the cinder block and chain around Jensen's ankles. His hands are red, red, damning, and leave tacky smears on the worn fabric of his jeans. He pulls the brim of his hat down to cover his eyes.  

* * *

Cougar's on of one of the twin beds trying to read a book, _The Old Man and the Sea_. He found it, of all places, wedged between the headboard and the mattress. It bears a stamp that identifies it as belonging to a library in another city. It’s an old paperback, creased and crackling cover and a vague scent like rotted wood. He’s read it before, of course. Still, he looks at the words and it’s like a language he doesn’t know.

He hasn't been able to read for a long time now. Can't focus. He can focus enough to make the shot to execute his friend, but not to read a damn book. He rereads the same sentence over and over, his attention slipping from the pages like water off a duck's back.

He's honestly grateful when he hears swearing and fumbling at the door to the hotel room. He still rolls his eyes when he gets up to open it, and Jensen grins at him before pushing past.

"Thanks, man. I think my key card is busted. Did you know the bar down the road is serving bottomless margaritas?"

"You left your card here." Cougar hadn't even noticed until after Jensen had left, figured he'd still be in the room, anyway. Still be here to let him in.

"Oh, uh, oops!" He frowns, suddenly, turns his face away. "Fuck. Fuck!" Cougar is a little shocked; Jensen seems seriously upset. It's just a key card. "What the fuck is the matter with me? Forget my key, my goddamn gun, Jesus hopping Christ I'm lucky I'm not dead yet."

Jensen is angry, sure, but he's also obviously, visibly tired. He can't maintain the anger. He lets out a frustrated groan and drops; his knees hit the floor before Cougar's feet, loud and sudden. Cougar feels his eyes widen in alarm.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I don't know if this is OK," Jensen's babbling, as if he's possessed, forced to say something he really doesn't want to. "I know it's been a long time, I know, and if this is totally unwelcome then please tell me to fuck right on off. I just, I just need --"

He lurches forward, and Cougar breathes in sharply, but Jensen just grabs onto his legs and presses his forehead against his knee.

"We almost died, man, we should be dead right now. Fuckin', like, several times over dead. Pooch is probably never going to walk right. And... and Aisha... And Roque, fuck!" He shakes his head, rolling his face against Cougar's knee. "I thought we were dead. I thought I was gonna see you get shot dead in front of me. What the fuck? What the fuck were you thinking? Over a fucking hat? A goddamn --" He's shaking, hard, but he doesn't seem to be crying.

Cougar grimaces a little.

It really had been foolish, a fucking hat. He'd thought, “What the hell? We're dead anyway.” He can't let Jensen hear that, not now. Cougar lays a hand over his head, a bad imitation of a saint, and Jensen shudders and slips farther down on the floor, mindful of his shoulder.

"I don't wanna fuck, I just want, I just need..." His words jerk out of him, awkward in his descent.

"Anything," Cougar whispers. "Todo."

Jensen sighs, air rushing anxiously from his lungs, and manages to wedge his body between the bed and the tv cabinet. He curls around Cougar's legs and presses a kiss to the top of one foot. Cougar waits, carefully still, then gingerly stretches back to grab his book.

He reads, or tries to, until his head starts to droop, his eyelids slipping shut. His back is tight from sitting here at the foot of the bed with no support. Jensen is breathing slow and steady, but he probably isn't asleep. He can't be comfortable, either.

"Jake, hey," he whispers. "Need to sleep." Jensen nods against the carpet, pushes up to his knees. "Bed or floor?"

Jensen blinks up at him, surprised maybe. He clears his throat before answering, a little hoarse, "Floor."

Cougar nods firmly and gets up to grab the pillow, some sheets, from the other bed. He tosses them on the floor between the beds.

"Thanks, man." Jensen sounds distant, a little embarrassed. Cougar goes to brush his teeth, to give him some privacy. When he comes out of the bathroom he sees that Jensen has organized the sheets and pillow into something comfortable. His glasses rest on the table above him.

Cougar switches off the lights.

* * *

Sunshine cuts through a gap in the curtains covering their east-facing window. Cuts right through Cougar's blessedly, miraculously deep and dreamless sleep. He pokes around in the blanket nest a little, in case Jensen's somehow managed to hide his big body - but he’s already gone.

The bathroom is warm, humid; one of the two toothbrushes is wet. He brushes his teeth, showers, then dresses and sits on the bed to gently guide a comb through his wet hair.

He hears again fumbling at the door, cursing, but this time Jensen manages it on his own. He shuffles into the room to stand at the threshold, bearing two paper cups of coffee. Cougar takes the one he offers and sips at it, watches Jensen hunch in on himself awkwardly like a big, nervous kid.

"So, uh, about last night... thanks." Cougar waits until Jensen glances up at him before answering with a smile and a shrug. Jensen takes a breath, and seems to steel himself before continuing.

"Listen, Cougar, I know it's been a while. I know it's totally likely that maybe you want to move on, or don't feel the same way, or if you ever even felt any sort of way about... me. But, fuck, man, we almost died, and. Look. I don't know if you know I notice, but I notice the shots you take to keep my ass safe. I notice. Probably not even half the shots you've made. God knows I need to be kept out of trouble. I know I need to be kept in line. I mean, hey, otherwise I just keep going home with strange girls and forgetting my gun, right? You'd be doing a public service, man, protecting the populace from me and vice-versa!"

Cougar sifts through the babble, hides a smile behind his paper cup and nods his head thoughtfully. Because, and this is important: Jensen might talk like he thinks no one’s listening, but he’s always aware of every word that leaves his mouth.

Cougar knows that Jensen, as much as anyone else, struggles with the weight of words that matter the most.

This is probably about as close to Jensen's going to get to asking him to go steady. Cougar might even hear wedding bells.

"Shit, man," Jensen stares at him with wide eyes. "Your poker face needs some serious rehabilitation."

Cougar gives up fighting the grin and lets it spread across his face. Jake laughs, a little breathless.

"So, uh," he rolls his eyes a little. "If we're a thing, I think this thing's begun?"

He knows he's probably pushing his luck, but he needs to know. "What do you want, Jake?"

God bless him, he rallies. "I want... I want to be there for you. Not like in Bolivia. Really there for you. And I think... I think you want to be the same. For me."

This... This is not what he was expecting. He feels oddly disconnected from himself, unable to do more than stare. Something must come through, though, must show on his face, because Jensen seems relieved. He lets out a breath and slumps a little against the wall, his smile dopey and his eyes soft.

"Ok," Jensen says, nodding. "Ok, yeah. Awesome."

* * *

Cougar think about taking the book with him. He knows it’s a silly thought, but still he thinks: maybe.

Maybe, and why not? Maybe he’ll make his way to that town, and he’ll find himself in a library.

You know, if he’s ever in the area.

But then he thinks maybe someone left it, and might come looking for it. Or maybe someone like him will find it and read it. Or, like him, try to. Or maybe one of the hotel staff likes to sneak up there to read. So he leaves it.

* * *

A few days further east, in another hotel room, Jensen pushes the two beds together. He sits and listens to the muffled sounds of Cougar in the shower. He leaps to his feet when he hears the water shut off and hovers awkwardly by the door. The heat that rushes out prickles his skin and fogs up his glasses.

“Uh…” He uses the hem of his shirt to try and clear the lenses. He puts them back on and smiles at Cougar’s puzzled expression. “Hi!”

Cougar furrows his brow some more and moves past him, warm shoulder brushing his chest.

“Wait! Here, gimme that.” He reaches for Cougar’s comb, the wide tooth kind he always manages to replace, no matter what or where. “Um. Can I?” This is so embarrassing, uncomfortable; surely Cougar will refuse. Such a stupid idea --

Cougar raises an eyebrow, hands him the comb. Just like that. Jensen flounders for a moment, then gestures toward the beds. Bed.

Cougar’s skin is still wet as Jensen sits carefully beside him. He sits, back straight, waiting. Jensen clears his throat a couple times and lifts the comb. He’s surprised by the trembling of his usually steady hand. He takes a deep breath, takes in the scent of hotel soap, shampoo, Cougar’s skin under it all.

Still, Cougar waits, and Jensen is grateful.

Finally he makes contact, draws the comb gently down, down, down. Watches the teeth of it run through the hair, the slick dark of it; they chase droplets of water down his spine. He watches the goosebumps follow the rivulets, and the shiver that brings his eyes up to Cougar’s face. His eyes are shut, lips just slightly parted. Jensen swallows.

It’s easier, without feeling like he’s being watched. It’s also intimidating, his face so open, vulnerable. Cougar’s trust like something breathtaking, precious; a wounded bird cupped in his palms.

He takes another deep breath, moves the comb over, pulls it through. The water runs down Cougar’s shoulders, then his chest. Jensen brings up his other hand to touch his shoulder blade, pushes lightly to direct Cougar to turn towards him. Then presses his fingers against his collarbone to turn him away again.

Cougar obeys, still so silent, but with a smile on his face like he wants to laugh. He bites his lip, drops his head forward a little, when Jensen reaches across his back to comb through his hair once, twice more. He grabs the hand towel from Cougar and presses it softly against his head, sopping up the excess water now gone cold.

When he’s done, he puts down the towel, the comb. He places them carefully next to himself on the bed. He scoots back a bit, so he can lower his forehead to rest against the top of Cougar’s shoulder. He’s still so nervous, he jerks a little when Cougar wraps a warm hand around the back of his neck. He feels a soft huff, warm rush of breath, as Cougar chuckles into his hair.

Cougar tightens his grip on the nape of his neck, then slides his hand around to press fingers firm up under Jensen’s jaw. Presses with his fingers so he can feel the hummingbird pace of his skittish heart.

Jensen covers his hand with his own, and lets him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily inspired by easyforpauline, whose particular brand of easy-going, bizarre, goofy BDSM is both infinitely fun and unlike anything I've ever read. I wanted to link the entire series as inspiration, but I can't. Thank you for writing and talking to me and giving me the OK to be inspired by you in a different fandom. Thank you also to my two editors and ridiculously lovely cheerleaders, B., and Quire, whose fic you definitely need to read if you haven't already. This did not start out as a gift to you, but it undoubtedly became one.


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